imagine making love with someone and your eyes seem to be fixed staring at the ceiling and your mind wandering your iTunes playlist.
blech...
good news folks. no matter how you have used your self to becoming comfortable with certain awkward and sad things, there comes a time when you snap out of the situation and ask: who the fuck re-arranged the furniture? this aint home! it may happen sooner or later. but, usually, it's the latter. and usually, it happens because some extra ordinary event happened.
and so...you stop caring. you stop looking for him. you stop thinking where he is right now and if he is doing okay. (believe me, he is ok.) you stop checking your phone for messages. (chronicles of the on-call partner) you stop believing in the word "worry" and start adding the [un]word "blah" in your vocabulary.
kinda bad news though. it should be understood by all that the above phase is only the first one. and don't ask me about the second and third and so forth phase. i haven't been there.
...that we begin to stop in order simply to begin again... - Maya Angelou
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in another news, it's my niece Pauline's 11th birthday! Ate Cel, Ate Lil, Jocelle and I went to Megz's place and had some small eatfest with the gang.
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